A Father's Lament
by Valairy Scot
Summary: How do parents of Forcesensitive children handle the goodbye? When the child becomes wellknown, as ObiWan Kenobi became in the Clone Wars, how does his parents react? This is a companion piece to a Mother's Prayer, though the intent is not to make the b


I've heard it whispered that the females of our species are weak, except when forced to protect their young. I was inclined to think there was some truth to it, until the day my son was taken away.

Jeanna and I were thrilled when she got pregnant. We had married somewhat late in life – nearly in our 30's. We were comfortable, and content with our jobs and datapads. I was a Healer, teaching at the academy. Jeanna taught the young ones, caught between childhood and adulthood. We were happy.

After a bout with what we first thought was bad food (yes, your mother was never much of a cook); we were overjoyed to find out we were expecting our own little bundle of joy. Our prior lives were as nothing, compared to this joy. We had thought, Jeanna and I, that we could not have children, and had settled in to a quiet life. My students, hers, became our surrogate children.

I, of course, hoped for a son. Oh, not because a male was needed to perpetuate the family line or any of that nonsense. No, I wanted a son because, in a way, he would be, well, like me. Jenna said she didn't care, as long as the baby was healthy and happy. We both hoped that for our child, of course, I especially hoping he – or she – would be less injury-prone as I had been in my youth. I think that's why I became a Healer – I had practically grown up among them. I had broken so many bones, gotten sick on so many things, that I knew almost as much as a licensed Healer when I went for training.

You never made your mother very sick, though you were quite the little kicker. The way your mother's tummy danced, there towards the end, oh, how I smiled. Your mother, well, she was not amused at my amusement. But she never was upset with you.

The proudest day of my life was when you were born. You didn't take long to arrive, and you didn't especially cry. You seemed to know what was important – food and you were quite demanding. If I may say so, son, you were extremely fussy when hungry, but rarely otherwise. I wonder if that remains true in your life.

We were terribly happy, and even more so when Jenna got pregnant with your brother. You were only five months old. You see, son, we were so pleased with you, that we just could not hold back. We wanted more children. Well, ahem, you probably don't care about that.

Your mother had brought you in for some shots and to show you off to my colleagues, of course. Son, you scared the heck out of me with your protests. You squirmed so hard, and squalled so loud, that half the healers came to see what was the matter. While we had you there, my colleagues were so enthralled with you (once you shut up), they decided to keep you about for a while and run some random tests on you. I didn't mind. They weren't painful tests, for the most part, though taking a blood sample set you off again.

I wish we had never run those tests. If not for that, you would be here, and I wouldn't be reminiscing here like someday you could read these words from your father.

You had Force potential. A Kenobi, beat that. We had always admired and respected the Jedi on our world; those that came through occasionally were always pleasant and well-spoken. Nice folk, if a little unemotional. But your great-grandma had been friends with a Jedi once, and she always told us the Jedi were well-controlled with their emotions more than being unemotional. We always did kind of wonder if, well, there might be some Jedi blood in the family tree somewhere.

We faced the hardest decision we had ever had to. Give you over to the Jedi, or keep you. Son, no parent should have to face such a decision.

I would not give you up. I couldn't. It may have been selfish of me, but there it was. I know Jeanna felt the same. We didn't speak of it for a few days. I thought the matter was settled.

I could not stand in the way of a better life for you, but I could not assent to let you go. It was your mother. Jeanna could not let her child go either, but in the end, she made the decision to let you go. A mother will guard her child against anything, any threat, even her own heart, if she thinks it best for her child. We both have always wanted the best for you, but your mother was the one who allowed it to happen.

The worst day of my life was the day the Jedi came, and took you away. When the Jedi came, gentle and reassuring, understanding our pain, my heart broke. So did your mother's. We knew we were being blessed with another child, but our little Obi-Wan would never be with us.

Jeanna cried, though she held back the worst of the sobs until after the Jedi left with you in her arms. You never cried, but stared as if curious. I merely stood frozen, unable to move or to cry. That ache in my body never left me.

When you were out of sight – truly gone, Jeanna collapsed in my arms, sobbing ugly, racking gasps. She had never been so lovely to me, though in truth your mother was not a pretty sight at the time. I encircled her within my arms and bent my head to hers, patting her back, and letting her tears drench my tunic.

She, who was so heart-broken, so overcome with tears that her body seemed about to tear apart with her sobs, would appear weak to one of those who would speak of women as weak. But it took a special woman, a strong woman – a mother - to reject her own heart and give her son up to a better life.

It was I, the very picture of a strong and silent man, comforting his "weak" wife, who was the weak one. I could not give my child up. I was not strong enough to give you up for that better life which we hoped for you. Your mother could. Let no one tell me our females are weak.

Know this, son. Your parents loved you: your mother enough to give you up; I – too selfish to do the same. I hope you have your mother's strength, her heart. I hope you have a happy life.

……..

Over the years, thoughts of you never left us. Our family grew – you have both a brother and a sister – but our family is not complete. It can never be, without you, our first born. Jeanna speaks of how you must look, how you would smile – a wry grin like mine, or a beaming sunburst of a smile as dazzling as hers – whether you are healthy or as well-acquainted with the healers as I had been. Do you worry as I do? Are you as impudent as your mother? Your brother, your sister, are such a blend of us both – are you, too?

I should say your mother speaks of you. I can not. I will nod or shake my head, perhaps assent or dissent, but to converse of you, I can not. The pain never left me, and I locked it away – locked you away. Memories of you are a treasure I buried for safekeeping; they are a treasure your mother will pick up and review, letting the memories slide through her mind as the pearl necklace I had given her runs through her fingers as she fastens it around her neck.

It remained so, until the day I saw you. It was all over the Holonet. The invasion of Naboo, the young Queen and her allies, the Gungans, freeing the planet, but at the cost of a Jedi's life, as well, of course, as of many other, unnamed beings.

Qui-Gon Jinn. The name meant nothing to me at the time. The entire Jedi Council came to pay their respects. I would not have recognized you, cloaked and hooded, but your mother knew. She knew – I marvel at that perception.

"It is he – his face," she said simply. "He carries himself like you, like a dancer."

Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi. Slayer of evil, one of the saviors of Naboo. I am proud, my son, yet sorry to know you have killed. We are a peaceful family. I hope his death at your hand does not prey on your heart, but I don't want you to get inured with dealing death. May you never have to raise that lightsword of yours against life ever again. Be a guardian of peace, not a warrior of death.

Master Qui-Gon Jinn, killed before your very eyes. Did you weep, my now grown son? I hope so. Would my pain at losing you be lessened could I release it?

Was your master like a father to you? A good father, I might add. Has your life been happy, at least until now? My son, I saw the look in your eyes, I see the sorrow that even your Jedi training cannot hide from me. He _was_ like a father. Would his death have been easier on you had he not been? No, I must not think that. Years without a father, to avoid one time of grief. Far better to have loved, and been loved, and then to mourn, rather than to have known neither. For each begets the other.

Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi. You have earned that rank. Is it worth it? Did we do the right thing by giving you up? I know you could never come back to us. But are you happy?

The battle on Naboo was just the beginning. I saw you on the Holonet, oh, infrequently, of course. You had not made a name for yourself yet. But I watched, hoping to hear your name anyway.

Then that terrible time on Geonosis. "Captured," they had said and I shut myself in my den, glued to the Holonet, needing to know what, how…was my son hurt? I saw you,

briefly in the background, looking exhausted and sad after the terrible losses the Jedi suffered that day, one Jedi among those left, but the only one I cared about.

I began to hear of you more often. "The Clone Wars," the Holonet called it. Heroes were created, and you were one. That charge you led on Vivan IV, the rescue on Skore. You weren't just a created hero for our entertainment. You _are_ a hero, you and your comrades.

I followed your career, my son. So did your siblings. We are all so proud of you. Don't think I ignore them in my grief of missing you. We are a happy family. But always, in the quiet of the evening, my thoughts turn to you as I turn to your family during the days.

Tonight, as I hear of your death, I have sat and reread this datapad, filled with my conversations to you. I do not know if I can go on speaking to you…when you are no more. Will this be my last note to you? Will this be your epitaph, as there is no one left to mourn you, but I?

I am so proud of you, though I know I have had no hand in shaping you. I know you are dead, now. "Traitors!" the Jedi have been called, and the Order destroyed. Traitors to the Republic, which ceased to be with your destruction. It is the Empire, now. Some call me a wise man. I know all is not as it seems.

I miss your mother so much. She died a few months ago. But now, all I can think is how lucky she was to go when she did. Her heart is unable to be broken as mine is. I go on: I have your brother and your sister. I love them with all my heart.

It has now been only a couple of days since your death. I did not know I could mourn you so deeply, twice in one lifetime. When you left my life, and when you left your own.

I know, also, that you will not truly be dead as long as I carry you in my heart. When I die, only then, my son, will you be truly lost to this world.

The Jedi raised my son into a fine young man. I am so proud…but I wonder. Would you be alive if we had not given you over to what we hoped was a better life? I hope it was the life you would have chosen for yourself. I hope your life was not filled with pain and regret, or sorrow. I hope life was kind to you.

I shall burn this when I am done. I hope the words reach you, wherever you are safe now.

I love you, my son. May the peace of your Force be with you.


End file.
